by Jane Henry
He stands at the table in front of me, bending down so that his eyes meet mine. He is deadly serious as he leans in close to me.
“Please don’t?” he says. “I gave you a chance to repent, and yet you chose defiance.” He reaches one large hand out and brushes back a strand of hair that has fallen across my face. Though his tenderness takes me by surprise, I cringe as his finger grazes my head. Physical human contact is unfamiliar to me, as we on Freanoss recognized long ago how such animalistic tendencies spread disease and illness. We do not touch one another.
His eyes roam from mine, down the length of my body stretched across the table before he speaks again. When he does, his voice has deepened. Though not harsh, it is corrective and unrelenting. “You disobeyed me. You have broken the laws of Avalere.” As he speaks, his eyes darken, and it’s almost as if he has convinced himself of his purpose. “Need I remind you that according to our laws, you ought to be executed? I feel compelled to protect you from our harshest penalty.” He stands, his lips a thin line, his eyes narrowed and fixed on mine. His voice lowers, and now only I hear it. “The stripes I will lay across you are given in my mercy.” I close my eyes. I have no choice but to accept my fate.
He is speaking to the crowd but I do not hear what he says, as the blood rushing in my ears is near deafening. My cheeks are aflame, my eyes shut tight, as I am mortified by my predicament. I jump as a warm hand presses against the bare skin on my lower back. I brace myself for the first searing zing of the whip, or whatever he’ll use to punish me, and jump in surprise when it is his hand that connects sharply with my bare skin. I gasp, the blow searing my flesh. Again, he strikes, the ringing sound of his hand connecting like a gunshot.
“You will obey me, little one,” he says sternly. “You must obey me.” He pulls back and I brace myself for another blow. “You ought to be whipped,” he says, as another strike of his palm hits my flesh. “And if you raise your hand to me again, you shall be.” Another stinging swat. I can hardly breathe for the pain, his large hand like a thousand bee stings, falling hard and fast. It hurts far more than I anticipate. He now spanks me in earnest, one blow falling after another. I feel his foot push against mine, spreading my legs, before another harsh blow lands on my inner thighs. My skin is on fire, every strike seemingly harder than the one before. He pauses. For a moment, I wonder if he is done. His voice raises as he addresses the crowd.
“The woman is small, and she is unfamiliar with our traditions. She is now mine to correct. She will learn obedience and subordination. Tonight, as I punish her, I mark her as my own.”
Fear spikes in my chest, as I wonder what he means by marking. Is he referring to the marks of his hand upon my skin, or something else? I am terrified, gripped with fear at the coupling the barbarians partake in. Is there ‘marking’ involved in coupling?
He turns back to me, his voice dropping as his hand rests on my neck briefly. “Disobedience will not be tolerated.” He pulls back and resumes spanking me, one hard swat after another. My backside burns from the blows, and each punishing swat atop my flaming skin makes me cry out. As my feet barely grace the floor, I writhe in pain.
“Now, now,” he chides. “A girl who is brave enough to strike the Warrior King ought to be brave enough to take her chastisement.”
Another searing swat lands. Is he mocking me?
His voice lowers again. “Six more blows,” he says. “And with each strike of my palm, you will count out loud.” There is a brief pause. “And if you do not, then I shall resume your punishment with my sword belt until you do.”
I close my eyes and brace myself. His palm lands firmly.
“One,” I hiss.
“Very good,” he says, before delivering the second searing swat.
“Two.”
Another hard smack falls, harder than the last, and I go up on my toes. “Three,” I whisper, trying to maintain my dignity. Thoroughly punished in front of a crowed that is cheering, shouting, and whistling has stripped me of my pride. I want them to go away. I want to run.
The fourth swat lands on my thighs again, and I cry out from the pain. “Four,” I choke, tears burning my eyes, my throat strangely clogged. I cannot begin to sort through the emotions I am feeling right now. I just need this to be done.
I am ready for the fifth swat, and take it bravely. “Five,” I say, mustering up all my courage.
The last swat is the hardest of all. The crack echoes around us. “Six,” I whisper, slumping against the table.
My punishment is over. But my imprisonment has only just begun.
* * *
The rough, firm feel of his palm massages my stinging skin. My eyes are shut tight, but I feel him lift my bound wrists from the peg.
“Come here, little one,” he says. I am lifted in his arms. My eyes fly open in surprise. I am not used to being touched by a man, and certainly have never been carried by one, since physical touch like this is forbidden on Freanoss. The pairing of mates has been outlawed for decades, ever since the New Dawn. I have also been trained to believe I am resistant to the desire for human contact, capable of rational thought not colored by archaic notions. I have been bred to be stronger than my ancestors and not susceptible to the weakness they succumbed to. And yet… something within me yearns for his touch. My body likes the feeling of helplessness I get when in his arms. I tell myself it is merely exhaustion coloring my feelings. When I am rested, I will think rationally again.
I shiver from cold. I am not used to feeling such things. I lift my head and turn from him, arching my body to keep myself distanced.
“The little one defies me even now,” he murmurs to himself, still holding me firmly while marching with purposeful strides. Oddly, I notice people are quieted, bowing to him as we pass. All around us I see brightly lit torches held high. Servants, perhaps? He speaks to me again. “It will be my duty and pleasure to teach you obedience. You will see.”
I will see what? The man is mad. I am not staying here to be taught anything. I will escape from him, after I find what my people need. But I shall not make the mistake of defying him so brashly, not again. For now, I will submit to him as he is stronger than I.
And I will escape.
Chapter Two
Aldric
I carry the little one in my arms as if she were a small lamb, tucked against my chest to keep her warm from the night air. I have punished her, and now it is my duty to comfort her. She has learned her first lesson from my stern correction. At first, she pushes against me, and I am not quite sure why she is fighting. I ponder for a moment whether her chastisement was thorough enough. But as a trained warrior of the highest order, I know how to read her prana vitae. I inhale deeply, interpreting her scent. As I walk between the flickering torches held by my servants, I feel her both tremble and cringe. Her defiance is bred of fear. The little one is uncomfortable and frightened.
I do not regret the discomfort. It was with mercy I administered her punishment, saving her from a harsher sentence. She does not yet know that she is mine, but soon she will. It was my duty to choose a woman from the ring as my mate, and she made my choice much easier than I’d anticipated. She is lovely, her petite stature fetching and quaint, her eyes dark blue like the sky at dusk. Her hair gleams in the moonlight, her skin creamy and unblemished, but what draws me to her above all else is the scent about her, both mystifying and enchanting. I have never met a woman like her before. Is she an enchantress? Does the blood of the gods flow in her veins?
As mine, the little one must learn to obey. But the smell of fear is strong, and it is the fear I must address.
“Relax against me,” I order. “You will not get away by pushing or fighting me.”
She still pulls away from me, turning her head.
“If you continue to resist me, I shall be forced to punish you again in my chambers.” I speak slowly so she knows I mean what I say. “And I will not hesitate to punish you again.” She needs to obey me. It is for her own benefit.
She struggles against me and without thinking, I growl, low in my chest, a warning that she must obey. Her movements cease, and she looks to me with wide eyes.
“You growl like an animal,” she says, her brows furrowed.
“We are brothers with the animals, little one,” I say.
She wrinkles her nose in disgust, before asking me a question. “Why do you call me that?” Though her question is interesting, I like that she has stopped resisting me for the moment. We are now only several yards away from our destination.
“You are little,” I say in explanation. “And I do not yet know your name. Do you dislike it?”
Her eyes flicker away from mine for a moment. No. It is not that she does not like it. She likes it very much, and it is her attraction to my name for her that troubles her.
The little one is complex. I smile to myself. I have chosen well.
“I have never been called such things,” she says, her eyes going back to mine. “Among my people, I am not little.”
“Among my people, you are,” I say. “And this is where you have come.” But I am puzzled by her insistence. “There is nothing wrong with being little,” I say. “I like that you are little.”
“Easier for you to overpower me,” she says, her eyes, the color of the fathomless ocean, flashing at me. Her skin is fair. I wonder if she’s ever been kissed by the rays of the sun or if it’s the stark contrast of her raven-colored hair that makes her look so pale. Though she is lovely to behold, the expression on her face is not. She is scowling. As much as I enjoy her feisty spirit, I cannot allow even the slightest thread of disrespect. I frown at her.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “It is easier to overpower you, and I do not regret for a moment doing so.”
“Of course not,” she mutters, turning her head away, muttering under her breath. “Savage.”
I lift my right hand, holding her solely with my left, as I administer a sharp swat to her backside. “That is enough,” I say. She closes her mouth and turns her head to the side. This little one will need a very firm hand. I am not afraid of my task. I have trained women in obedience before, though none have been mated to me. I will enjoy seeing her transformation.
“We are nearing our home,” I say. “I have carried you, for you have been punished. And now that I have punished you, I must see you are well cared for. It is the way of Avalere. There will be time for me to show you the home that is to be yours. Tonight, you need rest.”
“I am capable of walking,” she says.
I am nearing the end of my patience. “And I am capable of taking you across my knee,” I growl. She quiets.
We pass the final bend in the forest, and now approach the castle. It is a simple yet elegant abode. When my father deferred headship of Avalere to me, he willingly forfeited all property. As my father chose to remain at the large, stately castle of Avalere for his retirement, I chose a smaller abode. It is large but simply furnished, with fewer servants to manage, and fewer entrances to guard, the castle proper being maintained for the day I shall return with my wife, who will bear my children. For now, the little one will stay with me in my more intimate home.
I pass the arched stone entrance and walk swiftly to my chambers. The fire has already been lit, the bedclothes turned down, the table by the fire laden with a small platter of fruits, cheeses, and nuts aside a flagon of wine and a pitcher of water. I bend and gently set the woman on her feet.
“Sit, little one,” I order, pointing a stern finger to the chair, but as she moves to obey, she winces. She is not used to being chastised, I see. Perhaps my punishment was sufficient after all. I watch her sit gingerly upon the hard surface of the chair. Her face contorts in pain as she sits. This will not do.
“Come here,” I instruct. She looks at me in confusion, but I beckon to her. She frowns for a moment, and I inhale, trying to remain patient. I am not used to such defiance. Servants obey my command without delay. “Woman, when I give you an instruction, I expect prompt and respectful obedience. Always. Now come here.”
She slowly rises, coming to me, frowning all the way. When she is within arm’s reach, I grasp her waist, spin her around, and lift her tunic. She lifts her hand to smack me away, but I deftly grab her wrist and pin it by her side, ignoring her protests as I inspect her.
“You have not been chastised before?” I ask. How curious.
“Never!” she near wails. “We do not partake in such barbaric acts on my planet!”
“That is evident,” I murmur, “as well as unfortunate. I am displeased with your lack of obedience.”
She looks over her shoulder at me, trying to get away, but I hold fast. “We have no need for your methods,” she hisses.
“Young one,” I say sternly. “It seems you have much need for my methods.” I ignore her protests and mutterings, as I inspect her punished bottom. She is reddened, and there is one very small bruise forming. Though I only used my hand, I struck firmly, and her unblemished skin was not used to such treatment. I lower her tunic and spin her around to face me. “I must tend to you,” I say. I lift the small silver bell upon the table and give one quick shake. In moments, I hear a knock at the door. “Come in.”
My head servant Lystava enters. Small, thin, and graceful, with dark skin and dark hair gone gray around the temples piled atop her head, she eyes the woman with curiosity. No doubt she has heard from the crowd that I have taken a claimed woman to my chambers. For years, Avalere has waited for the day I would take a mate, and are likely gleeful I’ve finally made a choice. Lystava smiles politely and bows to me.
“Yes, my lord?”
I smile at my most faithful servant. “Greetings, Lystava,” I say. “I wish to have the silver salvete. Will you fetch it?” Her eyes widen before she hastens to obey. The silver salvete is of great expense, and used sparingly. But this woman is my mate, and will have duties to perform. She will need to be healed, and quickly.
Moments later, Lystava returns with a small vial, and hands it to me with a bow.
“Thank you,” I say, dismissing her with a nod.
“Come,” I say, pulling my woman by the hand to the bed. “Lie face down across my bed, and lift your tunic.”
Her eyes widen, and I am puzzled by her reaction at first, until I realize she may suspect I am going to punish her again, or perhaps violate her in some way.
“I need to apply this salve,” I say. It is the last bit of explanation she will get from me. “Now do as I say.” I point, my patience waning.
She obeys, standing but laying her torso on the bed now, her face flush against the bedspread, and lifts her tunic. She trembles.
I place my left hand on the small of her back. “Shh, now, little one,” I soothe. “This will feel very nice. And when we are done, we shall eat.” She closes her eyes and nods. A warmth floods my chest as she finally acquiesces, and I stand taller, proud of her small act of submission. Though I will punish her soundly for acts of defiance, she will be richly rewarded for her obedience. Thus will her training commence.
I tip the vial into my palm, the liquid silver gleaming in the flickering light of the fire. The vial is fashioned so that only small drops seep onto my palm. It is all that is necessary with a potent salve. I gently smooth my hand over her bare skin. Her bottom is hot to the touch, and she winces slightly when my palm touches her. But as I continue the massage, she sighs. I smile softly to myself as I look, and see the markings upon her have now faded to a deep red.
“I have punished you in front of my people,” I say. “You were marked with my skin against yours.” I pause, my voice dropping, as my hand massages her skin. She must know how important this is. “You will learn to obey me. Now come here.” I pat her bottom gently, and she stands up, turning to face me. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes lowered. I reach, embracing her, and pull her against my chest. She fits there as if she was created for me. My arms instinctively encircle her. She is warm, and I inhale deeply. It is no longer defiance I now detect, but s
omething else. Something primal and undeniable. If my limited knowledge of Freanoss is correct, her knowledge of coupling is nonexistent. I smile.
It will be my pleasure to teach her.
* * *
The little one sits upon the stool by me. I eye her warily. Though she is now under my watchful eye, I cannot trust her. I do not know why a woman of Freanoss is not only here, but came bearing weapons from her home planet. Though I will tend to her needs and demand her obedience, I will keep a trained eye upon her as I discover her purpose. For now, her basic needs must be met.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. After the evening’s ordeal, she must need sustenance. To my surprise, she looks at me in confusion.
“Hungry?” she asks.
I blink. “Yes. That is what I asked. Are you hungry?”
She shrugs. “I do not know. I have heard of such things as hunger, but I am unfamiliar with the feeling.” I must be frowning, for she quickly amends her words. “I know of such things. I have been educated enough to know that others experience hunger. But the Freanossians have eased such primitive urges, and we now circumvent hunger with methods to nourish and sustain without having to encounter unpleasantness or discomfort. We take supplements and nutrient-rich bars that sustain energy and provide the necessary nourishment.”
How very odd. The differences in our cultures after the New Dawn are remarkable, of this I am aware. Though I know the modern methods of Freanoss are different, until now I had no reason to truly contemplate the disparity in our cultures.
